Dead Man's Poker

by Giles Tippette

  I said, “Sharp gave you five hundred. Let’s say you had three hundred cattle at ten dollars a head. That’s the balance.”

  He said, “But I didn’t have three hundred head.”

  I shrugged. I said, “Well, put the rest down for the use of your boat and that you’re going to sail us on to Galveston and taking care of our horses and one thing and another. It’s your money and your town’s money. Put it away in a safe place.”

  By good light, around seven, the beach was just working alive with people from the village. They were shouting and waving and swinging their sombreros back and forth. Romando was coming home, the conquering hero.

  I didn’t know how he was going to get this big ship snug up against the cattle wharf, but he had the crew put a little sail on her, got up a little speed, dropped the sails, and then set that boat up to that wharf as neatly as you please. Of course there was no end of people to grab onto the lines that got thrown to them, to pull the ship up tight against the wharf so the cattle could be loaded. Now they were really cheering Romando. He was standing by the rail waving back. I went up to him and told him he’d better go get those vaqueros lined out to take the cattle on board just as quick as possible because I was afraid some of our crew might desert. But he turned stubborn on me. He said, “I want to bring this Sharp out here so the people can see I didn’t let him cheat them.”

  I sighed. It was the kind of thing I didn’t see no point to, but, in a lot of ways, he was just a kid and he had been a big help to me. I said, “All right. Have your day of glory. Chulo’s in the cabin. Go tell him to let you have Sharp. But don’t let that other fellow out. And tell Chulo to stay in the cabin. There’s still some money belongs to me in there.”

  I was standing back away from the rail about ten or twelve feet, reminding myself to remind Romando not to forget our horses, or rather, Justa’s horses. After a minute or two Romando passed me, leading Sharp by the left arm. Lord, Sharp was a sight. I had damn near shot his ears clean off, and the stubs that were left were just blood-caked. In fact he had blood all over him. I watched Romando lead him up to the rail, displaying his trophy. Something was wrong, but it wasn’t until Romando raised his right arm to cheer the crowd that I realized what it was. While he was in the cabin the fool kid had put his gunbelt back on. I guess he’d felt that was the necessary touch for the conquering hero.

  I started toward them. They were only about ten feet away. But I hadn’t taken but one stride when Sharp suddenly jerked Romando’s revolver out of the holster. He shoved the kid away and whirled to face me. Less than six feet separated us.

  Sharp’s voice was hoarse. The crowd had stilled. There was no noise except me and Sharp. He said, in that hoarse voice, “Now we’ll see who gets the last shot, Mr. Wilson Young. I won’t miss you this time. Not at this distance.”

  I said, “That’s an old single-action revolver. It won’t fire double-action and it ain’t cocked.”

  I could see him try to make the gun fire by pulling the trigger.

  I said, softly, “You got to cock it.”

  He put his thumb on the hammer to pull it back, and I drew and shot him. The slug took him at about his breastbone and knocked him back into the railing. My second shot took him in the head and flipped him over the railing. He disappeared. I walked over to the side and looked down. Sharp was floating facedown in the water. The little waves were washing him under the cattle chute. Romando came over to me with his head down. He said, “I am very sorry. You warn me and you warn me and still I don’t listen.”

  I patted him on the shoulder. I said, “That’s all right. It’s over now. Let’s get those cattle on board, and be sure and don’t forget to bring our horses too.

  I walked back toward the cabin, intending to get a drink. Chulo was standing in the door. I was sure he’d seen the second shot. He said, “Chou chure take chou time.”

  I said, “Aw, shut up.” Then I jerked my hand at the remaining occupant of the dining saloon. I said, “Throw that son of a bitch overboard. And don’t give him his clothes. I don’t like him.”

  When they were loaded, we sailed the cattle out in the ocean and dumped them.

  We sailed on to Galveston with no trouble. The minute we touched the dock, our three crewmen were over the side and gone. I’d figured to give them ten or twenty dollars apiece, but they wem’t waiting for nothing.

  We got in about ten of the morning, and I was a little anxious to get going myself. I planned for Chulo and I to be on that noon train through Blessing and then San Antonio and finally to Del Rio. But first I had a little business to attend to. I dragged Patterson out of his office, took him aboard the ship, and showed him the safe and the money. He looked like a man who’d just had a cow lifted off his shoulders. I said, “You was going to give me twenty thousand dollars for bringing the ship back, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I said. “I’ve taken twenty-one thousand. Sharp owed me a little over twenty thousand, and I took a little more for my expenses and trouble.” Then I explained to him about the twenty-five hundred dollars I’d given Romando and why. He agreed to that. I said, “So that leaves you a balance of a little over twenty-eight thousand dollars. I want you to give me a receipt for turning this money over to you.”

  He said, “Oh, Mr. Young, I don’t know how to thank you. You may have been the saving of this company.”

  I said, “I don’t want no thanks. I don’t want nothing else except to get the hell out of here. I am in a blistering hurry to get home.”

  He hesitantly asked me about Philip Sharp. I just said that Mr. Sharp had come to a fitting end and wouldn’t be a bother to nobody no more.

  Then I tore myself away from him. Romando and Rodriquez had finished provisioning their little boat for the trip back to Bodega. We shook hands all around. Romando started to say something about thanks, but I hushed him up. I said, “Let’s just leave it square all around. We’ll meet again. Now, adios.”

  Chulo and I mounted our horses and rode hard for the train depot. It felt mighty good to have a horse between my legs again.

  We didn’t make the train with a whole hell of a lot of change to spare. I was just barely able to get a stock car put on for us and the horses as far as Blessing. After that me and Chulo would ride the chair cars to San Antonio and then Del Rio. I managed to get off a telegram to Justa telling him we’d be leaving his horses at the railroad stockyards in Blessing. I apologized for not returning them to his ranch, but pleaded a desperate need to get home and do a little dancing. I ended by inviting him to get down to Del Rio and see me, or maybe I’d get back up and see him. And to bring the guitar player.

  I knew the railroad in Blessing would take good care of Williams horses, so I didn’t feel too bad about leaving them off there.

  And then, finally, we were pulling out of Galveston and heading down the line. We were on another train, but at least this one was going in the right direction. For a long time me and Chulo just rode along, staring out the car door, and smoking and drinking. Finally Chulo said, “Et was bad. The cattle.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  It had been awful. When we’d got far enough out to sea, we’d opened the big gates of the railing and herded the frightened cattle overboard. Most of them were so sick they would have been dead in a few days anyway, but it was still a mighty unpleasant job. Romando had gone to his store and brought back a number of boxes of carbine cartridges. Chulo and I had leaned against the rail and, with our carbines, tried to kill as many of the cattle as we could to keep them from drowning. And then the sharks had come. The water had just turned red in every direction you could see.

  Chulo said, “That es what chou chould hav done with thees Charps. Put heem over with the cattle.”

  I didn’t say anything. There was a whole lot of the last two weeks I’d just as soon let be forgotten. And I didn’t think anybody was ever going to be able to get me on a boat again.

  As if he could hear
what I was thinking, Chulo said, “Boads. Boads es no good.”

  I gave him a little salute with my brandy bottle and took a drink. I said, “Me and you wasn’t made for riding on no boats. Or anything else, for that matter, that moves and that you don’t need boots and spurs to stay on.”

  We had a few more drinks, and then Chulo raked him up a pile of straw and lay down and went to steep. I swear that Meskin could sleep at his own hanging.

  For a while I just looked out the door, smoking and drinking and watching us get closer to Del Rio. I was fairly contented with the way matters had turned out, but I still felt a little resentment towards Sharp for putting me to all the trouble he had. Of course feeling bitter at a dead man is about as useful as exercising a mule by letting him kick you in the head. But, by and large, I ain’t ever been one to look over my shoulder. Once a hand is played and the winner has raked in his chips, it’s time to deal again. If you still got money, you still got hope. If you ain’t, it’s time to go home. I’d got the money I’d had coming, and maybe I’d done a good turn or so along the way. That was enough. Besides, a little time away from home just might make me appreciate Evita all that much more. Though I doubted that.

  Patterson, in the hurried discussion we’d had, had said that Sheriff Mills had arrested Mike Hull and eight others the night we’d left. They’d been busy at the task of stealing the other two boats. Patterson said the sheriff had said to pass on his thanks to me if Patterson ever saw me again. I’d asked after Bennet, but Patterson had said, so far as he knew, the man was still clear of the law. But I didn’t figure that would last much longer. Sooner or later Mike Hull or one of the others would tell the sheriff that the high-toned gentleman was the brains behind the thefts on the docks.

  But, hell, it was no longer my affair. My business with that gang was over and done with. All I wanted to do was get home and fleece some cardplayers who had more money than sense and get hold of Evita and turn her every way but loose. I reached around and got Chulo by the leg and gave him a good shaking. I said, “Hey! Wake up, you dumb Meskin! You hear me? Wake up!”

  He came to, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. He said, “Wha’?”

  I got out the deck of cards. I said, “I’m going to give you five hundred dollars against your wages, and we’ll play some acey-deucey.”

  He said, “Why come chou always call me dumb? Chou theenk I am dumb?”

  “Hell, no,” I said. “I ain’t even sure you’re ignorant. Now here’s some money. Put on your thinking cap.”

  He rubbed his hands together. He said, “Boy, I am goin’ to beat chou theese time. I win all chou monies.”

  I dealt the cards. “Chure,” I said.

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